


Frequent Flyers

by troisroyaumes



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 07:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troisroyaumes/pseuds/troisroyaumes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midorima and Kise keep meeting in airports.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frequent Flyers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oieee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oieee/gifts).



> Instead of doing a straight-out job AU, as specified in your prompt, I set this fic post-canon, many years after the characters would have graduated from high school. Still, I hope it's the kind of story you were looking for!

_Taoyuan International Airport_

Shintarou walked briskly across the glossy tiled floor, his suitcase rolling beside him in near silence. He had his phone out in one hand and was scrolling with his thumb as he stepped onto the moving walkway. He had deleted the tenth email from his inbox when he heard someone shout his name.

"Midorimacchi!"

He glanced up and around. Surely not, he thought, but no indeed, it was Kise Ryouta, whom he hadn't seen for over fifteen years since the final Winter Cup tournament in their third year of high school. Kise, smile still brilliant and face still beautiful, although his jaw had grown more square and his frame more solid with age. Kise, wearing a crisp, double-breasted navy jacket with brass buttons and a cap with the JAL logo. Kise, jogging backwards to keep up with Shintarou standing on the moving walkway.

"What are you doing here?" Shintarou asked, then answered himself before Kise could speak. "Judging by the uniform, you're a pilot. Headed to your next flight, I assume. Hopefully not mine."

"Oh no, I'm not due to fly until this evening. What a coincidence, running into you here! What brings you to Taipei?"

"There are no coincidences," Shintarou replied automatically. Reaching the end of the walkway, he stepped off and continued walking. Kise fell into step beside him.

"Judging by _your_ clothes, you're...a businessman? A lawyer?"

"I'm an oncologist. I was attending a conference here; now I'm heading home to Tokyo."

"How many years has it been? I'm surprised I still recognized you! Though you haven't changed much; I think you wore those same glasses in high school. Do you still carry around a lucky item? What does Oha Asa forecast for today?"

Shintarou pinched his nose and sighed. Kise clearly had not changed much either, what with the continual babbling. He said, "I stopped checking Oha Asa a while ago. I need a different kind of luck now."

Kise gave him a chagrined smile and fell mercifully silent, though he continued to follow Shintarou to his gate.

"My plane is about to board soon," Shintarou said. He paused, then awkwardly held out a hand. "It was...good to see you again, Kise."

Kise ignored the hand and embraced him enthusiastically instead. "Good to see you too, Midorimacchi. We should get together sometime."

Shintarou just nodded.

***

_John F. Kennedy International Airport_

"Scotch, with water separate, please," Shintarou said in accented English. He had to repeat himself before the bartender understood and poured him two finger-widths of whisky in a tumbler, along with a glass of water and a straw.

Shintarou took a sip and frowned. As he had suspected, the scotch was too harsh and burned his throat. "What else can you expect from an airport bar," he muttered to himself, as he siphoned some water with the straw to the tumbler.

He leaned on one elbow and slouched a little on the bar stool. In front of him, a tablet was embedded into the bar, with applications for the news, stocks, and a couple of games. Overhead, a flatscreen television was showing an NCAA basketball game. He didn't recognize the teams, but they were both quite good by Japanese standards. One of the players leaped to catch a pass and shoot a basket from the three point line. The camera replayed the shot, following that familiar parabola as the ball fell cleanly through the net.

He blinked and looked down at his drink.

A hand suddenly clapped down on his shoulder. "Midorimacchi! I didn't expect to run into you again so soon!"

Shintarou nearly fell off the stool. "You again?"

"We keep meeting in foreign cities. First Taipei, now New York...you must live a really glamorous life as a doctor." Kise settled in the stool next to him. "I'll have a margarita," he said to the bartender. His English pronunciation, much to Shintarou's irritation, was quite good, possibly better.

"What do you mean, glamorous?" Shintarou grumbled. "I go to conferences and spend all my time in hotels, eating terrible hotel food. Then I have to return to a hospital full of dying patients."

Kise gave a sympathetic smile, the sort that seemed too practiced and photogenic to be all that genuine. Shintarou swallowed his irritation by taking another sip of whisky.

"In any case, aren't you the one with the glamorous life, flying airplanes around the world? It's what six-year old boys dream of doing with their lives."

"Being a pilot isn't that exciting either. Almost everything's been turned into checklists and routines. I guess there's still enough unpredictability to keep it from being completely boring, but in the end, it's like any other job." Kise still smiled, but it seemed falser than ever. 

They both fell silent, their gazes turning automatically to the television screen, where a basketball player had just pivoted around a defender to pass the ball to his teammate, who triumphantly made a one-handed dunk.

Kise said, "I bet I could still do that."

Shintarou snorted. "You're over thirty, Kise."

"You, me, basketball court," Kise retorted. "When we're both back in Tokyo."

***

_Incheon International Airport_

When he ran into Kise again at Incheon, Shintarou no longer felt any surprise. Clearly, fate, for whatever reason, had decreed these unlikely encounters. So instead of turning away and pretending he hadn't seen Kise browsing skin care products at the duty-free store, he just sighed and walked up to the other man.

"Midorimacchi," Kise said with a grin. "Let me guess, going to another conference?"

"Yes, but in Hong Kong. This is my layover."

"How long do you have until your next flight?"

"Exactly ten hours," Shintarou said, with a glare at his watch, "and seventeen minutes, until boarding."

Kise made a sympathetic noise, then held up two varieties of face masks for perusal. "What do you think, Midorimacchi? Aloe or black sugar?" 

Shintarou rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

"This face doesn't maintain itself, you know." Kise returned the boxes to the shelves and folded his arms. "And I'm not getting any younger."

"Somehow I don't remember you being quite this vain before, even when you had the constant coterie of adoring fans."

"I stopped modeling in college. No longer had the right look. And well...it got boring." A look of vague dissatisfaction passed over his face. "Everything does, sooner or later."

"Well, of course things will get tedious if you lack dedication. You never did learn how to challenge yourself, Kise," Shintarou said. After a pause, he added, more charitably, "I suppose you weren't the only one with that problem."

Kise snorted. "I suppose if you look at it that way, it's all very simple." He turned his gaze back to the skin care products and fell into an abstracted silence.

Shintarou shook his head in exasperation. He glanced at the shelves filled with colorful tubes and bottles advertising hydration, whitening, blemish removal, exfoliation. "Turn back time," said one anti-wrinkle cream. "Rejuvenate your aging skin!"

Meanwhile, Kise had turned to examine the products behind them. "Here's something you'll like, Midorimacchi," he said suddenly and waved a small tub of hand cream in front of his face.

It took Shintarou a while to focus on the product logo. He frowned. "I already have that."

Kise burst into laughter. 

"I'm a doctor! I need to take care of my hands."

Kise, still laughing, said, "It's good to know that some things haven't changed."

***

_Sydney Airport_

Shintarou stalked through the terminal, neck craning to scan the shops and restaurants ahead. It had been exactly eighteen hours since he had last eaten or slept, and he was in dire need of food.

He paused in front of a donut shop, wondering if he was desperate enough to resort to a dinner of fried dough and sugar, but the smell of icing made him faintly nauseous so he passed on.

He stopped short when he saw a lone figure, perched at a table in an otherwise empty sushi restaurant, picking at a platter of maki with chopsticks, chin resting on one hand. Before he had come to any conscious decision, Shintarou was already heading inside, his feet moving of their own volition.

"Kise," he said, with a stiff nod. "May I join you?"

Jerking in his seat, Kise looked up and exclaimed, "Midorimacchi! Of course, have a seat." He leaned over to remove the navy blue blazer and pilot's cap tossed carelessly on the opposite chair.

Shintarou unslung his laptop bag and sat down. A waiter brought him a menu, a napkin, and a cup of steaming green tea. Shintarou took a sip and felt the crick in his back relax a little.

"You look tired," Kise said. "Long day?"

"Very. I've been on my feet since three in the morning. And now I have a ten-hour flight home to look forward to."

"What were you doing at three in the morning?"

"Taking a call from the hospital. One of my patients went into cardiac arrest during the night." Shintarou picked up the menu and began flipping through the pages.

"Oh," Kise said, his eyes widening. "Uh, is he...is he all right?" 

"They were able to resuscitate him and get him on life support. I'm cutting short my trip here to go back." Shintarou closed the menu with a snap and handed it to the waiter, saying, "One order of vegetable udon, please."

Kise swallowed and returned to picking at his food, his shoulders bowed. Shintarou crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, willing his eyes to stay open.

"Are you happy, Midorimacchi? Doing what you do."

Frowning, Shintarou considered the question for a moment. "Happy? I've been too busy to think about happiness."

Kise snorted. "You really never change, do you?" He smiled and lowered his eyes, his long lashes brushing against his cheeks. Shintarou blinked and took another sip of tea.

The waiter brought Shintarou a bowl of udon; they ate their meals without making conversation. Between bites of noodles, Shintarou studied Kise, with his pleasantly blank expression and unfocused gaze, the uncombed hair, the half-loosened tie. Adrift, as if nothing anchored him to here and now.

"I really am sleep-deprived," Shintarou muttered.

"What?"

Shintarou just glared at him. "Give me your phone."

Kise took out his phone, looking a little confused. Shintarou grabbed it, punched in his email and phone number and returned it without a word.

"Oh. Thanks, Midorimacchi."

***

_Narita International Airport_

Shintarou picked up his suitcase from the baggage carousel and walked toward the exit. His phone beeped in his pocket.

It was an email, saying simply, "Look behind you."

He turned around slowly, scanning the faces of the people around him. His gaze settled on a man standing several meters away, a basketball held up as if in invitation.

Shintarou almost smiled. He started heading towards Kise, pivoting around the groups of travelers milling around while waiting for their luggage.

When he was within hearing distance, Kise called out, "Midorimacchi," and tossed the ball at him. Shintarou automatically brought his arms up to catch it, the impact stinging his palms. He dribbled the ball a couple of times on the floor then tucked the ball under one arm. 

He closed the distance between them with long, swift steps.

"Hello, Kise," Shintarou said. "You owe me a game."


End file.
